Tuesday, April 25, 2017

But wherefore to the mountain-top
can this unhappy woman go,
whatever stars is in the skies,
whatever wind may blow?
full twenty years are past and gone
since she (her name is Martha Ray)
gave with a maiden's true goodwill
her company to Stephen Hill;
and she was blithe and gay,
while friends and kindred all approved
of him whom tenderly she loved

Monday, April 24, 2017

The Solitary Reaper

behold her, single in the field,
yon solitary highland lass!
reaping and singing by herself
stop here or gently pass!
alone she cuts and binds the grain
and sings a melancholy strain
listen, for the vales profound
is overflowing with the sound

no nightingale did ever chaunt
more welcome notes to weary bands
of travellers in some shady haunt,
among arabian sands
a voice so thrilling never was heard
in springtime from the way
breaking the silence
among the farthest hebrides

will no one tell me what she sings?
perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
for old, unhappy, far-off things,
and battles long ago?
or is it some more humble lay,
familiar matter of today?
some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
that has been, and may be again?

Whatever the theme, the maiden sang
as if her song could have no ending
I saw her singing at her work,
and listened o'er the sickle bending
I listened motionless and still
and, as I mounted up the hill,
the music in my heart I bore,
long after it was heard no more

Saturday, April 15, 2017

I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots,
And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over
And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons,
but call any thing back again when I desire it.

In vain the speeding or shyness
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
in vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
in vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
in vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
in vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
in vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
in vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
in vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

Here I am, back again to the blog that has kept me away for so long. There's some joy to typing your thoughts out on paper, as banal as they might be. My writing certainly needs a lot of work, and one way to test it is through this blog, and writing phrases such as "the quick fox jumped over the lazy dog".

So anyway, I am spending too much on vaporizers, and I'm not sure what all that is doing to my lungs in any case, so that is something else to worry about.

The weather is cold and not good for walking around, but that is what I'm doing anyway. The idea being, to get out in the cold air between rounds of playing songs. There's hope in the day, and the flowers are coming up out of the ground, so spring is not far off.